Down Dark Corridors
by sono spiacente
Summary: Axel/Roxas, briefly mentioned Roxas/Larxene ჯ In which Roxas learns that not everything is as simple as it seems, and sometimes the dark path is the right path.
1. trying to hold on

**prologue 30**

The trouble is, he doesn't understand exactly what it was that made _him_ a Nobody, but not the hundreds and thousands of other people who've lost _their_ hearts. He can't figure out why he's still breathing when there are so many homeless hearts out there. It's like survivor's guilt, almost. He doesn't know what makes him special, what makes him worthy.

Not that being a heartless peon of darkness is exactly a reward, but that's not the point, really.

When Xemnas finds him, it doesn't feel like coming home. It's good to have a name – Roxas – and a place to belong, but it's not home. He doesn't remember home, not really, but he knows that the Never Was, with its arching halls and empty corridors – that's not it. It's just a waystation, a place to rest for a while on some other journey.

**mem3ory**

The first thing Roxas does, once he's been assigned a room and a partner, is try to remember. His memories before today are a blank, not even a hint of something that might have existed – it's as if he were born today, fully-grown and functioning. And perhaps, something whispers in the back of his mind, perhaps that is exactly what has happened. Roxas is a newborn, thrust into a strange world with no memories and no coping mechanisms.

But that's not strictly true, not really, he thinks as he calls his weapons into existence in his palms. Two giant keys – they look as though they ought to be child's toys, only Roxas knows what they can do. He's seem them flay shadow from bone, in the single battle he fought before Xemnas' arrival. He saw the keys peel the shade-flesh of those creatures like peeling the skin from a peach.

Still. They're giant _keys_. Keys are for unlocking and opening, not for killing, even if the enemy in question is already mostly dead.

**8 foreign**

Roxas' partner is a sadistically cheerful young man – or at least he was a young man, theoretically – named Demyx, whose element is water and whose weapon is a sitar. This is all information that Roxas gains within two and a half minutes of being placed in Demyx's presence. To Roxas, whose mind is that of a mathematician, Demyx's willingness to let himself spill over and run ragged at the edges is disconcerting.

"Everyone thinks I'm pretty much useless," Demyx tells him, when they're off-world on their first mission. It's raining, Demyx is in a good mood, and Roxas is pondering sixteen different ways to forcibly shut someone up. "I guess that's how I like to keep it."

Roxas doesn't reply, just focuses on slicing his keyblades through shadow and keeping all of his limbs intact.

"I mean" – one of Demyx's water clones is destroyed, and he swears violently – "I mean, it's not like I've really got anything to lose from it, right?"

"Shut _up_," Roxas says, cleanly decapitating a Heartless.

It isn't until they're safely perched on the edge of a dock, nursing their wounds, that Roxas asks Demyx what he means. Demyx, who has been sucking at a bite mark, gives him a wide-eyed, startled look.

"What do you mean, what have I got to lose from what?"

That, Roxas assumes, must be the façade that Demyx had been referring to, the sheen of innocence that covers him like dew. He leans back on his hands, favoring his right, and gives a critical glance; Demyx looks his part, all wayward limbs and mussed hair and wide, wide aqua eyes. He is beautiful, Roxas thinks, or at least he would be if it weren't for the slight deadness in his eyes that no amount of smiling can hide.

After a moment, a slow smile creeps onto Demyx's lips. "See what I mean? It's easy to do, when you don't have a real personality to get in the way. Everyone believes it."

"I don't."

"Yeah, well, you're the Prodigal Son, aren't you? You wouldn't." Before Roxas has a moment to ask what that means, Demyx tilts his head back and inhales. "Smell that?"

"What?"

"Rain. You can always smell when it's been raining – the air is heavier, cleaner. Not humidity, just rain."

It is at approximately that time that Roxas decides that Demyx is absolutely, unredeemably batshit insane. It is also at approximately that time when Roxas realizes he can't decide if that's a bad thing.

**breaking 17 the Rules**

They go back to Demyx's room afterwards, which is technically forbidden, but when Roxas voices that concern, Demyx's only reply is a loud peal of laughter, so there's that, then. Demyx's room isn't quite blue and isn't quite turquoise, but some combination of the two, like clear seawater. It is also incredibly messy – books and papers and clothing are strewn across every imaginable surface (and some unimaginable). Roxas isn't surprised.

"So has anybody given you the lowdown on the rest of the Organization?" Demyx asks, shedding his uniform jacket and throwing himself across the bed. "You know. The _de_-tails."

"No," Roxas replies, settling himself much more cautiously on the only exposed chair he can find.

"All right. So you already met Xemnas, yeah? He's the fucking crazy one – okay, well, we're all fucking crazy, but he's even more than we are. He's in charge. Don't ever mention Kingdom Hearts in front of him, _ever_, if you value your eardrums." Demyx ticks off one finger. "Right. There's Saïx, he's like a giant dog. Big guy, blue hair, if he ever looks at you you'll probably feel like he's about to devour your soul. You're probably right. Uh .. Xigbar, he likes to pretend to be a stoner. He's only got one eye, but don't make the mistake of assuming he has a blind side. I did that, first time I met him."

"What happened?"

"Don't ask." Demyx pulls a face and shakes his head. "Xemnas, Saïx, Xigbar … Xaldin, his hair sort of reminds me of tentacles. He's okay, but only if you don't piss him off, because he holds grudges for_ever_ unless he has an immediate way of enacting revenge."

"Such as?"

"Uhh, one time Axel put cayenne peppers in his mashed potatoes. He spent the next day making really good friends with one of the toilets on the fifth floor." Demyx drew a finger across his neck, the universal sign for imminent doom. "Ipecac."

"Oh."

"So that's Xaldin. There's Zexion, too, he's practically a midget – well, taller than you, actually – "

"Thanks."

"Sorry, well, we're not used to having anyone shorter than Zex around. _Any_way, Zexion, he likes to read a lot, he'll probably make you feel like an insignificant speck whenever you talk to him because that's just how he is. He's one of the originals, the first six who came through. He was like sixteen when it happened."

"Originals?"

"Man, you really are behind on this, aren't you?"

Roxas scowls. "It isn't like I've had many chances to ask around."

Demyx laughs again, and his laugh sounds like bells. "I guess not. Uh, the originals – that's Xemnas, Xigbar, Lexaeus, Zexion, Xaldin, and Vexen – they were the ones who started the Organization. There's a sort of history lesson, it gets passed down to new recruits. I don't really remember most of it, just that they started everything."

"And Zexion was sixteen."

"Right."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Just that he's smart." Clearly done with that line of questioning, Demyx waves a hand in Roxas' general direction and continues his descriptions. "Lexaeus is a pretty okay guy, I guess. Kinda nondescript. He doesn't do a lot. Vexen is crazy, he's the scientist of the bunch – or, well, they're all sort of scientists, all of the originals, but he takes it really seriously." With a startled noise, Demyx sits up. "Damn, I forgot numbers. Who did I tell you already?"

"Xemnas."

"One, obviously. Next?"

"Xaldin."

"Five."

"Xigbar."

"Two."

"Vexen?"

"Four."

"Zexion?"

"Six. Is that all I told you so far?"

Roxas thinks back. "No," he says. "There was Saïx, too."

"Seven." Demyx counts on his fingers. "Right, seven. There's thirteen total, including you and me." He flops back onto the bed and kicks his legs over the edge. "I'm nine, and you're thirteen. Obviously, since you're the new kid."

"Obviously."

Obvious to sarcasm, Demyx carries on. "Larxene is number twelve. She's the only girl of the bunch, and I think it's sort of messed her up in the head. I'd avoid her, she likes to play games. Uhh, Marluxia is number eleven, he's .. really weird. I think he secretly has the hots for Larxene, he seems like the masochistic type. Luxord is number ten, don't ever take a bet from him. Ever."

"..Is that all?"

Demyx furrows his brow. "No, no, I'm forgetting someone. Who did I miss .. Xemnas, Xigbar, Lexaeus, Vexen, Xaldin, Zexion, Saix – oh! Yeah, Axel. He's dangerous."

It seems an inadequate explanation, considering all of the information that Demyx had provided on the other members, but it's late, and Roxas is tired and hard-pressed to find the motivation to inquire. Instead, he nods and stands up, wincing as tired muscles creak back to life. "I'm going to my room," he says, and leaves before Demyx can reply.

**int5erval**

In their next off-world mission, they are taken by surprise. Previous reports had indicated that this world had a level-one, maybe level-two population of Heartless, so Demyx and Roxas are understandably startled to find the land practically black with them. It's not as though they're much of a hindrance to defeat, but the flying ones – the yellow ones, specifically – are an annoyance, and lightning and water do not mix.

In the aftermath of the battle – from which they are rescued by Zexion and his book of illusions – Demyx is decommissioned for the remainder of the month, partially by way of injury and partially by way of incompetence. "Fool," Zexion calls him, and his voice is ice-cold.

Demyx shrugs. "Yeah, probably. But it was fun."

"_Fun_ is not our objective, number IX."

"Oh, I know. There's no harm in having some, though."

Following Demyx's removal from the pool of available members, Roxas is reassigned. His partner is now the thus-far elusive number eight, Axel, about whom Demyx's only words were "He's dangerous." It doesn't bother Roxas.

When Roxas meets Axel, the first words from the other's mouth are, "Let's get this out of the way fast. I'm not your friend, I'm your interim working partner. Got it?"

Roxas gives him a long, appraising stare. Axel is tall and reminiscent of fire, in coloring and in temperament. In element as well, if the singe marks on his sleeves are any indication. Roxas shakes his head, then asks, "Are you done?" He stands and brushes dust from his jacket. "We're half an hour late for the mission to D-3287."

He strides away. Behind him, Axel grins.

**deep in th6ought**

The first thing that Roxas learns about Axel is that he has a deep-seated dislike of paperwork and all the bureaucracy that accompanies it. The second thing he learns is that Axel's sole purpose in life is to make Roxas' existence as miserable as humanly possible in the short time they'll be spending together – at least, that's how it seems to Roxas as he painstakingly fills in boxes and blanks and attempts to tune out Axel's meaningless, one-sided conversation.

"Been to Traverse Town yet? Sorta dismal place, lots of neon?"

"No."

"You should go. They have great hookers there, and probably the fucking best crème brulée you'll ever have in your entire life. Those were separate thoughts, by the way, unless hookers and crème brulée together is your thing, in which case far be it from me to stand in your way – "

"Axel?"

"Yeah?"

"Please shut up."

"Well, princess, since you asked so nicely." Axel lounges against the table, his presence oppressive at Roxas' left shoulder. "Almost done?"

"Why should it matter to you whether I'm almost done or not? You're not _doing_ anything."

"I'm _waiting_," Axel replies, his voice full of affected hurt, "for you to finish, so I can show you what I mean about hookers and crème brulée. God, Rox, no need to be such a downer all the time. The Never Was won't suffer for a little happiness every once in a while."

Roxas grits his teeth in irritation. "And you'd know all about happiness and sunshine, I presume."

"Don't presume, it makes you look constipated."

The third thing that Roxas learns about Axel is that his train of thought very rarely makes sense to anyone but him. It's as though Axel's brain-to-mouth filter is permanently shut off, allowing every thought that crosses his mind to make itself known to whoever might be standing in the vicinity. Roxas amuses himself (and saves his sanity) by imagining what might happen if someone were to offer Axel a complicated theorem to solve.

**22 written in stone**

What seems like ages later, Roxas sets down his pen and works a cramp out of his hand. "Done," he announces, relief and triumph coloring his voice.

"Good! Hookers and crème brulée, here we come." Axel slings an arm around Roxas' shoulders and digs his chin into the top of Roxas' head. "By the way, we're staying overnight, so I hope you don't have any medications you need to take."

Roxas gives him a disbelieving stare. "Axel."

"What?"

"I don't exist. Of course I don't have medications."

For an instant, so quickly that Roxas is almost sure he's imagined it, something dark and angry flashes in Axel's eyes. "We exist," he says, and his voice is hard.

"..Right. Traverse Town?"

And as quickly as it came, the expression is gone. Axel flashes a shit-eating grin and waves his hand, opening a portal in the hallway. "Ready?" he asks. Roxas rolls his eyes.

"As I'm ever going to be."

"Great." And with that, they're gone.

**not 19 afraid**

Thing is, Axel's taste in hookers isn't quite what Roxas is expecting. The obvious convention for Axel to fill would be the easy catches, the busty, strawberry-scented colty-legged girls with short skirts and even shorter attention spans, the ones with shimmering curls and heavy eyelids. Axel seems like the type to go for airheaded and eager, so when Axel announces that the hunt is beginning, that's what Roxas keeps his eyes peeled for.

That's not, as it turns out, what Axel is looking for.

Roxas doesn't realize it until almost a full hour later – an hour full of passing by several eligible-looking prostitutes and even more brothels. He comes back from a conversation with the innkeeper regarding the rooming situation (one room – not ideal) to find Axel deep in conversation with a young man, the type who reminds Roxas of a jungle cat, all wiry muscle and lithe limbs.

The grin on Axel's face is predatory, and he leans forward – the boy leans forward, and their mouths brush for a moment, not quite a kiss but close enough, and it hits Roxas like a punch in the stomach.

Of course, it shouldn't really _matter_, right? They don't exist, so what should it matter what – or who – Axel does in his spare time, male or female or any variation thereof? It's lonely in the Never Was, Roxas knows that already, and he knows from Demyx's offhand comments that sex isn't exactly a stranger to members of the Organization – something about relative fullness, or something, he'd sort of stopped listening. So why is it bothering him so much?

Roxas swallows a lump and clears his throat, half-expecting a guilty jump. All he gets, though, is a glance from the boy and a smile from Axel, and the look in Axel's eyes is heated and unlike anything Roxas has ever seen before.

"Our room is ready. I can't believe you only got _one room_," Roxas says, his voice steadier than he'd expected. "You, Axel, are a horrible person."

"I know," Axel says, standing up in one fluid motion. "You can stay down here, if you're not into it."

_Into what?_ Roxas thinks. _Into sharing a room with you, or into sharing a room with you while you have sex with another guy?_

"Whatever," he says aloud, and sullenly follows Axel and company upstairs to the room.

**26 change**

It is, without a doubt, the worst night that Roxas has ever endured in his (admittedly short) life.

This estimation includes all of the overnight offworlds with Demyx, all of the battles fought in pitch-black darkness, all of the times he's lost sight of his partner in the middle of a sea of Heartless. It includes every time he's spent the night in an undistinguishable corridor of the Castle because he took a wrong turn getting back to his room. It includes every night that he's heard the unintelligible screams coming from Xemnas' lab and been unable to sleep because of them.

Yes, it is _definitely_ the worst night ever.

The inn's pillows are thin, and even with two of them clamped over his head, Roxas is still painfully aware of every sound that comes from the other bed. Every. Single. Sound. Every breathy sigh, every moan, every _creak of the bedsprings_, Roxas can hear it, and he's almost completely certain that the next time he hears the word "harder", he is going to kill something. Preferably Axel.

Of course, not all of his irritation is born of his unwilling insomnia. Part of it has to do with the fact that he's obviously subconsciously enjoying it – _obviously_, or he has some very Freudian sexual repressions, because how else would he explain the erection digging into the mattress below him?

Sorry, what? What erection? Nope, none of those around here.

After what seems like ages (but is probably only hours), Roxas hears the rustle of sheets as Axel settles back against the wall. "You can come out now," he says. "He's gone."

For a moment, Roxas hates his life bitterly. Then he removes the pillows from his ears and turns his head slowly to give Axel the most vicious stare he can summon. If looks could kill, Axel would be writhing. "I hate you," he says.

"Yeah, yeah, Rox."

"No, really. Hate. Consider how impressive this hate must be, since we can't _feel_."

Axel waves a disinterested hand and opens the pack of cigarettes that Boy Toy has left lying on the bedside table. With a flick of his finger, a flame appears, and he inhales deeply. "Minor details."

Roxas stares. And stares. And then opens his mouth. "You're unbelievable."

"That's what he said, too."

"_Ugh_. I'm requesting a transfer."

"You haven't had your crème brulee yet."

"I don't want to consume anything that has been within a hundred feet of your body."

"You don't like my body?"

"I hate you."

"You shouldn't look at it so nicely, then. It might think you've taken a shine to it."

"I hate you."

"Go to sleep."

"I hate you." It is slowly becoming a mantra of sorts – possibly the only foothold that Roxas has on his slipping sanity. Axel seems to have an indescribably insane-ifying effect, that much is obvious. Roxas rolls over and buries his head once more under the pillows, and Axel laughs, a totally different sound from the harsh, braying laughter of before. This sound is warm like syrup and smug, satisfied, like he's conquered the world, and it's the last thing Roxas hears before he falls asleep.

**cho16ices**

When they return to the Castle, the first thing of which Roxas is informed is the fact that Demyx has been removed from forced medical leave.

The second thing of which he is informed is that he now has to make the decision about whether he wants to return to Demyx or keep Axel as his partner. In all honesty, Roxas thinks this decision should not be very difficult to make, but Xemnas – in his incessant and somewhat irritating wisdom – insists that he sleep on it. Take a night, make sure he's comfortable with the decision.

Roxas would be more comfortable knowing he never has to see Axel's smirking face again.

But in deference to his elders, Roxas heads back to his bedroom and drops face-forward onto the mattress, hoping to inhale it and thus spare himself any further humiliation. The thing is – and this is what really gets him – is that it's not really as simple as Roxas wants it to be.

On one hand, Demyx is less crude than Axel is, and seems less dedicated to making Roxas' life a living hell. But on the other hand, and against every odd, Roxas sort of likes the bastard.

And it has nothing to do with – well. No. Nothing at all.


	2. to reasons like seasons

**two roads 14**

There is, Roxas decides, something very wrong in his brain.

There must be—it's the only possible explanation for the fit of insanity that seems to have prompted him to decide to stay with Axel as his partner. There's no logic to the decision, after all; Axel is loudmouthed and unapologetic, very irritating, callous, coarse, and a host of other negative adjectives. Demyx is—well, crazy, but he's also well-meaning, and at least he was sort of nice to Roxas instead of spending all of his time attempting to make Roxas' life hell.

This can lead to one conclusion and one conclusion only—Roxas has completely lost it.

In seriousness, though, he wonders if that could be it. The Never Was is a lonely place, and he knew that from the beginning—it was the first thing that Xemnas told him when they entered the castle. "This is the Castle That Never Was. It can get lonely." There was too much room for their thirteen members, too many empty spaces in which they could become trapped—Roxas didn't know if it were possible, but he imagined that he might one day come across another member, an old member, stuck in a single room and unable to find his (or her) way back. And it seemed distinctly possible that that much space, that many echoes could easily cause a person to go insane.

The difficulty is, of course, that Roxas _feels_ perfectly sane. Which, in turn, leads to the difficulty of the fact that he's not entirely sure whether crazy people ever know they're crazy.

"Axel, do you ever feel crazy?" he asks, during a quiet moment on an offworld. They're sitting on high on a clocktower in queer little Twilight Town where the sun never quite sets, and maybe its that honey-caramel warmth on his face that loosens his tongue. "Not like … the okay kind of crazy. I mean full-fledged insane."

"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?" Axel is eating ice cream, a trickle of blue running down his chin. "Nope. Well—sometimes. I know when I'm acting like a complete fucktard, if that's what you're asking."

"Not really." Roxas lolls back against the west-facing front of the clocktower. It would be a problem, except that in this strange anachronistic little place, the second hand never seems to move. "Not you, personally. Editorial 'you'. Collective you, do you think anyone who's crazy knows that they're crazy?"

"Sure. Dem does."

"Demyx is not a standard for normalcy."

"Truth." Axel thinks for a moment, tilting his head back so the ice cream doesn't fall out of his mouth. "I guess not. Sanity's kind of relative, though, isn't it? I mean, what qualifies as 'sane' for you actually seems sort of anal-retentive to me, and my brand of sane probably comes off as 'pyromaniacal bastard' or something. Doesn't it?"

Roxas turns the idea over in his mind, considering its edges and implications. "You're right," he says, his tongue heavy—he's drunk on sunlight. "So maybe I'm not totally insane, after all."

"I don't know, Rox." Axel's voice is smiling. "I wouldn't rule it out just yet."

**sile4nce**

Eventually, it's the little things that get to him.

It's not like Roxas has suddenly and spontaneously developed the hots for Axel. That's not it, at all—in fact, that's far from it. It's just that sometimes, he'll catch sight of something totally innocuous, something like the shape of Axel's hands as he flicks a flame into existence, or the pull of his uniform jacket against his shoulder, and then—blindsided. All of a sudden, it's like a thousand tiny details slamming into him all at once: the brief glimpses of Axel's fingers tangled in dark hair, the sound of their voices, the smell of sex and fire that had lingered even after the prostitute had gone.

This is understandably distressing to Roxas, who imagines that his nerves will eventually just disintegrate all together if he continues to stress them the way he's doing.

This also makes it difficult for Roxas to spend extended periods of time in Axel's company, primarily because Axel has few, if any, inhibitions about touching, especially after a battle when he's tired and unwilling to admit that he needs the support.

And it's not like Roxas has a problem because Axel's a guy (or something approximating male, anyway). In the long run, and in light of everything, that doesn't seem to matter much—there are far, far more important things that Roxas should be caring about. Roxas has a problem because it's _Axel_, and even though Axel saves Roxas' ass on a regular basis (though the favor is frequently returned) and can be tolerable when he tries, he's still _Axel_, and it's weird.

So he keeps quiet about it. And when Axel corners him after a mission to the Land of Dragons to ask him "What the fuck's got you pissing yourself silly every time you see me?", Roxas' eloquent and well-thought-out response is to glare angrily and shove Axel away.

It becomes Roxas' philosophy that if he doesn't talk about it, it won't exist. This is a terrible, terrible philosophy.

**no 6 time**

"So you're the fresh meat."

The voice is like smooth leather behind Roxas, and distinctly female. For a split second, he racks his mental catalogue—Larxene, number twelve. Crazy, which translates in Roxas' mind to _not very different than anyone else here_. They're all their own brand of insane, after all.

"Yeah," he says, slowing to allow Larxene to come abreast of him. "And you're—Larxene?"

"Got it in one." She gives him an electric once-over, and for a second it feels like being flayed skin from flesh. "You're not as impressive as Xemnas seems to think you are."

Roxas shrugs. It's been a long time since insults could bother him. "Probably not," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'm not any more special than anyone else around here."

Larxene gives him a satisfied smile, like he's given her an answer she wanted to hear. "Pre_cise_ly," she says, enunciating so clearly that Roxas can hear the click of her tongue against her teeth on the 'l'. "So, little one, you're still a virgin?"

A pause, and Roxas mulls it over. "Probably," he says after a moment, enunciating just as clearly as Larxene had. "Seems likely, all things considered."

By 'all things', he means the fact that his body can't be older than fifteen—sixteen, maybe—and while it seems that some worlds have no problem with copulation among their youngsters, Twilight Town hadn't seemed to be one of them. Larxene takes his jaw in her hand, tilts his head left and right. Roxas feels a bit like a racehorse on auction.

"Come with me," she says, in a tone that means business.

"I have reports to write."

If looks could kill, Roxas would be ashes. "I _said_, come with me," Larxene repeats, and her voice is no longer smooth leather but ice crystals, that's how cold it's gotten. "I don't recall telling you that you had a choice in the matter."

It's not like Roxas doesn't know there's something else at work here. Larxene, he assumes, is hardly the type to engage in idle conversation for its own sake—there are _always_ ulterior motives. The only question is what the ulterior motive is in this particular situation; torture seems likely but possibly too much effort for Larxene to expend on someone she doesn't even know.

So Roxas does the first illogical thing that comes to mind. He follows her.

**after 27 tomorrow**

Larxene's room is devoid of decoration, save for deep holes that mar the plaster of the wall near the door. Roxas briefly imagines Axel fleeing as Larxene throws her knives in his direction, and has to stifle a smile at the image. "What do you want from me?" he asks as soon as he has his facial muscles back under control. "It's not like I have any information you don't know."

"I don't want information from _you_," Larxene sneers, her lips curling prettily into a smirk. "Think of it as … being led down a dark path."

Everything comes together abruptly, like the final piece of a puzzle snapping into place. "Ah," Roxas says, shoving his hands once more into his jacket pockets. "Is that—that seems like a really bad idea." He says so less because he thinks they would get in trouble, and more because Roxas is concerned that his life—or what's left of it—may be in immediate danger should be choose to fall into bed with Larxene.

"Bad ideas are my specialty," Larxene says, and magnetizes.

**vali10um**

When Roxas stumbles out of Larxene's room several hours later, his hair mussed and his jacket wrinkled and looking for all the world like he's just survived a cagefight with a tiger (which, in some ways, he has), the first thing he sees is Axel and Demyx walking down the hall. It is possibly the _most_ supremely awkward of all of the moments Roxas has experienced, and he has experienced some significantly awkward moments.

Demyx gives him a once-over, then glances at the room behind him. "Isn't that—" he begins. And then his eyes widen, realization dawning on his face, and he _laughs_, the bastard. He doubles over and laughs for all he's worth, like it's perfectly normal for a member of the Organization to be wandering out of Larxene's room at an ungodly hour of the morning looking like a train wreck.

Axel, on the other hand, just gets a sort of strange expression on his face, like curiosity and nausea are having a battle for dominance. "_Larxene?_" he finally chokes out. "You slept with _Larxene?_"

Roxas blushes, glowers, and shrugs. "What's it to you if I did?"

"That's—but—_Rox_, that's disgusting, she's probably full of diseases—"

From the room, Larxene's voice slides slow and sweet as honey out from the cracks around the door. "I can hear you, Axel."

This is possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to Roxas.

Axel's face turns angry red, followed immediately by a sickly shade of greenish-white—Roxas isn't sure whether he's about to kill someone or be violently ill all over the hallway. When he storms into Larxene's room and slams the door so hard the walls shake, Roxas assumes that it's the former.

"You'd better go," Demyx advises, slinging an arm around Roxas' shoulder. "Wouldn't want any collateral damage from this."

"Collateral—" _Oh, fuck,_ Roxas thinks, and allows himself to be led away.

**01 intermission**

Axel refuses to speak to him for several days after the incident, either due to anger or disgust, Roxas isn't sure. Either way, missions are tense and uncomfortable, and the brief post-mission report-writing session is even more so. Axel leans against a far wall and spins his chakram, sending them intermittently in and out of existence as Roxas, disquieted, scribbles details down on the piece of paper.

Axel's violence has grown on Roxas, but this is the first time that he's seen his partner so openly upset. Things piss Axel off all the time—namely, Roxas—and these instances are usually rectified by a cuff to the head and a cheeky grin, possibly an inappropriate comment, and that's that. But this … this is different. This is Axel wearing his violence like a cloak, outward and obvious, like he's looking for a fight. And in the Never Was, if you go looking for a fight, you're going to find one.

"Done," Roxas announces, sitting back from the table, and almost before the syllable has left his lips Axel is brushing past him and turning the corner into the hallway. As the last glimpse of his uniform jacket slides out of the frame, Roxas mutters, "The same to you, princess."

A moment later, all of the heat is sucked out of the room. Roxas would think he was imagining it, except that he knows when Axel is angry, all the heat goes right to his hands—right into his flames, and immediately Roxas knows that he hadn't muttered quietly enough. Axel appears back in the doorway, and he's _angry_, Roxas can tell that he's angry. His eyes are flashing (literally, in a way that Roxas didn't know eyes could do) and his teeth are gritted, and his chakram are in his hands and without even thinking about it, Roxas' keyblades are in his.

"Say it again," Axel says, his voice low and dangerous. And Roxas, Roxas who can never resist a challenge, says, "Prin_cess_."

Axel's chakram are at his throat before he can even blink, and from there it's like he's on autopilot—his foot comes up, sinks into Axel's stomach, and he's sliding across the floor in a defensive crouch, his teeth bared in what's almost a snarl. There's fire, now, and some vaguely unhinged part of Roxas' mind can see their report crumbling to ash on the desk, and is mourning the hours he'll have to spend rewriting it.

But then Axel is there, swinging those blades around and slicing into the air where Roxas' body would have been if he hadn't fallen back a step. He's on the defensive, and he _knows_ their training—the best defense is a good offense—but somehow he doesn't want to strike out, not when he knows what his blades can do. A blow from Axel's chakram could be healed, but his keys—they're designed to cut shadow and darkness, and Roxas knows that wounds he inflicts won't heal.

He blinks, and Axel pins him against the wall, the points of one chakram digging into the plaster and the flat edge pressed to his throat. Roxas drops his keyblades, and they dematerialize before they can hit the floor.

"You win," he says, his voice low. One false move and he'll be missing his trachea.

Axel growls and presses his chakram closer—Roxas can feel the bite of the metal against his skin—and then the clouds lift, slowly, from Axel's face. "Damn right," he says, pulling back and sending his weapons back into the ether. "Brat."

Roxas tentatively rubs his throat, and his fingers come away bloody. "I should've stuck with Demyx," he says, only half-joking.

"Probably," Axel says, and Roxas can tell that he's only half joking, too.

**breathe 02 again**

It doesn't get better, after that.

Well, it does, in some ways. They talk. Axel's eyes no longer express the desire to rip Roxas' bones out of his body. But it's tense and awkward nonetheless, like a heavy blanket of things unsaid has been laid on top of them and they've no way to escape from it. Roxas can't explain it—he doesn't even understand it, not really. All he knows is that something happened, and now things have been broken.

He breathes easier, though, knowing that Axel won't put chakram through his back whenever he turns around.

**questioning 05**

The difficulty is that Axel's always been hard to read, from the moment that Roxas met him. It wasn't a problem, exactly, just another character trait that Roxas added to his mental catalogue of things that made the other Organization members who they are; Demyx was crazy, Zexion was cold, Axel was unreadable. He'd only accepted it, previously, but now that it's become a point of frustration, Roxas wishes that he knew what made Axel tick.

"Why is this weird?" Roxas asks, and wonders if there's just something about Twilight Town that inspires him to have deep and meaningful conversations about absolutely nothing at all. "You, and me, I mean. Why is this weird?"

Axel regards him solemnly. "Are you drunk, Rox?"

"I hate you." Roxas tips his head back against the rough stone of the clock's face and closes his eyes, then opens them again, because whatever he can imagine pales in comparison to what he really sees. "I'm asking seriously, Axel. Is this about the fight?"

There is a long, long pause. "No," Axel finally says.

"So what's it about? I'm not psychic."

Silence falls again, and Roxas shifts his head almost imperceptibly to the right, just enough so that he can see Axel's profile silhouetted by the ever-setting sun. Axel's frowning, looking at his hands, like he's trying to think of some kind of answer that will satisfy—and also like he knows that nothing he can say, save for the truth, will ever get Roxas off of his back.

"When you think of a good lie, let me know," Roxas says, turning his head away again. "Or the truth, if you don't mind."

Axel shoots him a bitter glance—Roxas can practically feel it. "Shut up, Rox," he says, but there's less bite in the words than usual. "I don't know, okay? There's a giant fucking purple elephant in our room and neither of us seems to really know what it is."

"A giant purple elephant." Roxas smiles. "Sounds good to me."

It's not so much that Axel has offered him an answer as it is that Axel has acknowledged that there's something going on. A solution is too much to hope for—a confirmation was all Roxas wanted, and that's exactly what he's gotten. Confirmation, that he's not just imagining it, he's not losing his mind quite as thoroughly as he'd thought he was. And at least now he knew that Axel was uncomfortable, too.

Or at least as uncomfortable as one can be without emotions.

**trouble lur07king**

The reason for the sudden increase in awkwardness comes to Roxas suddenly, when the rumble of thunder wakes him in the middle of the night to wet sheets, with the vestiges of a very Axel-centric wet dream fading from his mind. He looks down at his lap for a moment, almost uncomprehending, and then mouths the word "Oh" in the general direction of the stain.

Everything begins to make sense, then.

Once he's changed his sheets and disposed of his shorts, it becomes painfully apparent that sleep will not be coming back to Roxas, at least not that night. It's raining outside, lashing violently against the pane of glass covering his window, and for a second Roxas thinks it's beautiful. On the heels of that thought comes the realization that it's always raining in Dark City.

Roxas pushes the window open and lets the rain slap him in the face. He's naked, and the water is cold as it sluices down his shoulderblades and traces wet lines along his hipbones. It's quite possible that Roxas has once again taken leave of his senses as he climbs out of the window and settles himself on the ledge, his legs hanging down into the vast abyss below him. For a brief moment, he wonders what Demyx thinks of rainstorms. Is Demyx sitting on his window ledge the same way Roxas is, relishing the feel of water on his skin? Does he play his sitar in the rain, letting his Dancers glide between the drops? Or does he envy the rain its freedom and wildness—Roxas knows that Demyx feels chained by his role in the Organization.

Roxas swings his legs out into the darkness, feeling the absence of terra firma below his feet. The Castle is precarious, and one false move could send him plummeting.

That's not true, though, is it? The Dusks would catch him before he could fall too far.

A sound at the door catches his attention, and Roxas turns back to find Axel in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his legs crossed. "You're up late," Roxas says, and it's so inane but so fitting.

"And you're naked. What's your point?" Axel grins tiredly and runs a hand over his face. "I don't sleep much these days."

"Ah. I still wear clothes most of the time."

"I've noticed." Axel comes into the room, kicking the door. It doesn't close all the way. He frowns at the puddle of water on the floor, remnants of the rainstorm that Roxas is welcoming—fire and water don't get along. "Setting death traps, now, Rox? That's a little extreme, even for you."

"I have better things to do with my time." Operating on autopilot, Roxas climbs back in through the window, then closes the latch behind him. The sound of the rain hitting the side of the castle is muffled behind the glass, and he turns to face Axel. "What do you want?"

Axel's fingertips are harsh against Roxas' skin when he reaches out to trace the path of a drop of rain, down Roxas' neck and collarbone. There's a moment of silence, deep, deep quiet, and then they're kissing, like thirsty men offered water. This is _stupid_, Roxas thinks serenely, as his fingers find purchase in Axel's hair. _This is idiocy_, he thinks, and he can't think of anywhere he'd rather be.

**standing sti11ll**

Inhale.

Axel's teeth scrape against Roxas' lip. This isn't anything like kissing Larxene—if that could be called kissing at all, more like attacking, if anything—this isn't anything like any of the vestiges of memory that Roxas has of kissing pretty soft girls under trees in courtyards. This is like being confused, being consumed, like walking into the heart of a fire (ha, ha, he can still make metaphors even like this) and letting it take him over.

Exhale.

Roxas' fingers scrape down Axel's neck, stopped short by the uniform jacket that Axel still wears. They part for a second, only so that Roxas can pull the zipper and push the cloak backwards off of Axel's shoulders, and then there are _more_ clothes and Roxas is just about ready to give up.

Inhale.

Axel laughs, pulls the shirt over his head and kicks the boots off simultaneously, and Roxas unzips his pants and thinks _What the hell am I doing?_ And then Axel is pinning him to the bed, and he's naked, and _Roxas_ is naked, he's never been this naked before, and Axel's fingers scrape cruelly across his hipbone.

Exhale.

There's a sound something like a growl that escapes Roxas' throat, then, and he arches his back, and that's either the right thing or the completely wrong thing, but either way Axel is reacting. There are hands—Axel's palms are like furnaces—at his hips, on his stomach, his thigh, and—_oh._ Roxas isn't sure how to feel about that.

Inhale.

"Relax," Axel tells him, and one of those furnace-hands is wrapping around him and jerking, one, two, and suddenly Roxas isn't so uncomfortable anymore. He's still uncomfortable, yeah, this is totally alien territory and Axel's body is terra incognito—here be dragons—and Roxas isn't really sure what to think of any of this, so he forces himself not to think at all. And Axel is still touching him, touching him, and Roxas thinks he might unwind altogether.

Exhale.

There's another savage sort of sound that bursts forth when Axel pushes in, and it's partly pleasure but mostly pain. Roxas' fingernails dig bloody half-moons into the skin of Axel's shoulders, and he _bites_, hard, anything to take his mind off of this. And then Axel moves, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but under that hurt is the potential for pleasure, and Roxas clings to that like he's drowning.

Inhale.

They move.

Exhale.

And then Roxas flies into a million pieces, shattered and hot and melting in a million different directions, and he's vaguely aware of the keening sound in the back of his throat and can't even be made to feel ashamed of it. Axel is shuddering against him, his fingers leaving bruises at Roxas' hips and even as Axel slumps forward, sweaty and heaving, and buries his face against Roxas' neck, even as Roxas' legs drop from around Axel's hips—

Inhale.


	3. they're floating away

**keeping 13 a secret**

They come, eventually, to the mutual understanding that no one can know about this. It's not a matter of shame—obviously, since neither of them can _feel_ shame—but if Xemnas knew, he would label them 'compromised' and split them back to their original status, Roxas with Demyx for a partner and Axel as a loose cannon.

It's dangerous to keep secrets from the Superior. Xemnas is brilliant, yes, but he is insane, and insanity breeds strange things in the dark quiet of the castle basements.

This fear, as it were, does not keep them from falling on each other at every available moment, every time they're dismissed from duty and sent back to their rooms. Roxas learns that Axel likes to be bitten, and Axel learns that Roxas is sensitive on the line of his hipbone and the small of his back. Small idiosyncrasies, and they spend hours mapping each other's bodies, spend their days off laying in Roxas' bed and tangling sheets around their legs.

There is some small intimacy between them, though nothing worth labeling 'love'. Axel is dangerous, but Roxas feels comfortable in his bed, below him. They're friends, if that, and it's easy to seek warmth and comfort in each other—the Never Was is a lonely place.

When Roxas first came to the Castle, he thought it was no home. It was a halfway house, a temporary waystation where he could catch his breath and gather his thoughts. Now, he find that he feels more at home with Axel than he ever did alone.

**can you 21?**

Axel begins to disappear between missions, reappearing only long enough for meals and a shower before they're off or he's off to wherever-the-fuck. And he never says anything, not a hint of his whereabouts, not an explanation for why Roxas' bed is beginning to feel too big and too cold on the dark rainy nights in Dark City. Not for why Axel comes back looking like something the Heartless dragged in, tired and gaunt and hollow-eyed, like he hadn't been dead enough before.

"Don't do this with anyone else," Axel commands him, once, one of the few times that they have enough breathing room to fall in with each other once again. "Just me, got it?"

There is some part of Roxas that doesn't mind the command. The bigger, more conditioned part of him growls, "Where do you get off on commanding me?"

And Axel doesn't say anything else, just sinks his teeth into the skin at Roxas' collarbone and fucks him until he forgets his own name, until the cold walls of his room reverberate with his gasped half-moans and semi-coherent litany of pleas. Later, in the aftermath(glow), Roxas rolls over and pins Axel to the bed by his hair, spitting Axel on his stare and holding him until he responds.

"What the fuck?" Axel says, attempting to bat Roxas' hands away. Roxas refuses.

"Where do you go?" he asks instead, and the question tastes like tin water on his lips. In that moment, he knows something, and maybe it's in Axel's expression or the sudden thrill of tension that runs through his body, or maybe he just knew it all along—whatever the answer, it won't be good. "Missions? Other worlds? Axel—"

Axel turns his eyes away, stoic.

**i 18 can't**

Roxas says, "We're partners, you asshole, we don't keep secrets like this from each other. We don't keep secrets _period_ from each other."

Says, "What's making you start now?"

Says, "Come on—Axel, just talk to me."

Says, "Axel."

And after several long, tense minutes spent in dead silence save for the sounds of their breathing, Axel reaches up and wraps his fingers around Roxas' wrist, squeezes until he feels the bones grate beneath the skin. "Stop asking," he says, and his voice is dead calm, quiet, the kind of serious he only ever is in the face of erasure. "You don't want to know."

Roxas believes him.

Roxas asks anyway.

**20 in the storm**

He never saw the fist coming.

In fact, when Axel stalks from the room scant seconds later, leaving Roxas behind on the floor cradling his bruised shoulder and bruised cheek at intervals, Roxas still hasn't completely processed what just happened. He's seen Axel's violence in action before, he's seen Axel's danger, and he never imagined that it would one day be directed at him.

Suddenly, he understands what Demyx had said so many months ago—"Axel. He's dangerous."

He's also a liar, if their current situation is any indicator.

Wincing at the motion, Roxas pushes himself into a sitting position, then stands, testing his knees. They hold, and he stalks out of the room and down the hallway. There is something like heat spreading in his stomach, through his limbs, and he can't quite think clearly, not that that's ever hindered him before—is this the memory of anger? Perhaps.

Xemnas is in his laboratory when Roxas slams the door open and storms into the room. "Number Thirteen," Xemnas says, giving Roxas a coolly appraising glance. "Do you require something?"

"Yeah," Roxas says, breathing hard. "A transfer."

**streaks of 23 red**

What Roxas wants to say is that Axel makes him angry, and that's physically _impossible_ so he can't figure why Axel, of all people, would make it happen. And Axel makes him happy, makes him laugh, and sometimes, yes, sometimes Axel makes him sad, and that's what Roxas hates most of all—which is itself a conundrum, because he's a Nobody, and Nobodies don't hate.

With Demyx, he feels remnants of emotion, like ghosts—like heat waves rising off of hot concrete in the summer, intangible but present. With Axel, he feels flames.

Xemnas gives him a transfer, puts him with Luxord, Number Ten, who manages, over the course of a single night, to rob Roxas of all of his clothing and the small amount of accumulated munny he'd had in his pocket. Luxord takes pity on him and gives back the clothes, but the munny, he says, is "Insurance." Insurance against what, Roxas isn't sure, and feels very sullenly like he's the butt of a Castle-wide joke that no one seems to want to let him in on.

When he returns to his room, Axel is there waiting. He lounges against the window (now shut tight, like it's been since that night) and watches the rain splatter against the glass.

"So." He stretches, pops his spine. "Luxord, huh?"

Roxas nods, not sure whether he can trust his voice. After a moment: "He took all my munny."

"Demyx warned you not to bet against him."

"I obviously wasn't listening hard enough."

It's tense. There is something huge and unnamed in the silence between them, something obstructing their views, lingering in the corners of their smiles and weighing down their shoulders. "Do you need something?" Roxas finally asks, and doesn't watch the loose easy roll of Axel's shoulders as he shrugs.

"Not really."

"You still won't tell me."

"No." Roxas would think he looked regretful, if Axel knew what regret was. "Wish I could, Rox."

"No, you don't."

**into the fire 29**

When Roxas finds out about Sora, it's not because Axel decides to tell him. It's because when Axel is worked up, his voice is loud, and the halls of the Never Was are good conductors of sound—Roxas stops outside, hears bits and pieces of conversation.

"Xemnas is just trying to keep us busy, you know—until he can find that little Sora shit." A deep voice, gritty. Axel.

A female voice answers—Larxene, obviously, who else could it be? "Keep your fucking voice down. What would he do if he knew you were down here talking to me, huh? He'd flay us both alive, so shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down." A pause, and a _whoomp_ like someone settling onto a chair. "Good. You might be pissed about playing watchpuppy until Xemnas can get his hands on the Keyblade kid, but don't make out like Sora's not important."

Roxas looks down at his palms, calls one of his blades into existence. Keyblades?

"Roxas's been asking questions." Axel sounds tired. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this shit under wraps. He's gonna figure it out eventually, Larxene, he's not an idiot."

"No, but he's in the dark for now, and all you have to do is keep it that way." Larxene's voice is sharp as the knives she wields. "If you can't keep one blond teenybopper from knowing about his Other, then what the fuck are you good for?"

For a brief, terrifying second, Roxas feels as though the bottom of his stomach has dropped out of his body. Axel says something, but it's white noise in Roxas' ears—his _Other_? This is what Axel's been keeping from him, the reason for all of his disappearances and inexplicable silences?

By Nobody standards, betrayal is illogical. That doesn't stop Roxas from wanting to rip all of Axel's bones out, one by one.

**incin24erate**

When Axel gets back to his room that night, Roxas is waiting, fury roiling in every nerve ending in his body. "Hey, Rox," Axel says, his voice weary, and he must be tired if he doesn't notice the thundercloud on Roxas' expression—it doesn't make Roxas want to cut him any slack. "Long day, can we talk later?"

"_No_," Roxas growls, and is almost surprised by the vehemence in his own tone.

Axel stops, stock-still, and turns around to face him. "Roxas," he says, and he looks exhausted, Roxas could pack for a mission with the bags under his eyes. "What—"

And then Roxas is on him, his hands closed around Axel's throat, his knees digging into Axel's thighs as they tumble backwards onto Axel's bed. Their mouths are together—is it a kiss? No, more like Roxas is trying to tear Axel's throat out with his teeth, and for a moment it seems almost as if Axel is too stunned to fight back. He lets Roxas push him over, lets him get his thumbs secured over his windpipe before he moves, before he flips them over and pins Roxas beneath him with big hands and stronger legs.

"What the fuck," he rasps, and it gives Roxas some small satisfaction to know that he's done damage. "What are you thinking?"

"_Fuck_ you," Roxas says, and spits in Axel's face.

The anger is almost tangible for a moment, and Axel's grip on Roxas' wrists tightens until it's almost unbearable. "What the _fuck_," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "You have ten seconds to explain yourself. Ten."

"You unbelievable asshole." Roxas struggles against Axel's hold. "You arrogant son of a _bitch_, get your hands off of me."

"_Nine_."

"You couldn't fucking _tell_ me that I had an Other!"

The world spins to a halt, then. Axel's face freezes over him, his expression somewhere between total loathing and horror, and Roxas knows that his words have bitten deep. "How do you know about him," Axel says, and it's not a question as much as it is a demand, a desperate plea. "Roxas—_how_."

It is as though Roxas has never understood anything before this moment.

All of his anger drains away, and he reaches up, touches Axel's mouth. "You're scared," he says, not mocking or teasing—just stunned into sudden submission. "I don't get it."

Axel pushes away from him, runs a hand harshly through his hair. He's like a jungle cat, stalking back and forth between the walls of his room, his shoulders hard with tension. "I just—" he begins, and then falls silent, clearly frustrated; Axel is not used to being at a loss for words. "You weren't supposed to know. How the fuck do you know?"

"I heard you and Larxene talking," Roxas says, sitting up on the bed. "Axel, what the fuck."

"This is stupid," Axel mutters, yanking at a spike. "This is _stupid_, this is fucking ridiculous." He turns abruptly and punches the wall, and Roxas hears the sickening crunch of bone giving way under his skin. "I didn't want you to know. I thought if you knew, you'd leave."

Roxas says, "Selfish bastard," but it's autopilot, not really conscious. He's thinking—_Axel wanted to keep me here._ He's thinking, _Axel tried to protect me._ And he's thinking that even loose and reckless as Axel is, this doesn't seem so strange, after all.

There's a long pause. Axel seems to be waiting for something—a response from Roxas, maybe, some sort of confirmation or denial of his fears. Roxas meets his gaze and thinks that Axel's eyes are the greenest they've ever been, right then. "You were right," he says slowly. "If I'd know, I would have left."

Axel's breathing slows, almost imperceptibly. "And now?"

"Now .. " Roxas rolls the idea around in his mind, testing its edges. "Now, I'm still going to leave."

"Fuck, Roxas." Axel's jaw tightens. "After all this shit, you're just going to leave?"

"What else did you expect?" The calmness is strange. Roxas had expected his anger to linger for longer than the scant moments it took him to nearly crush Axel's windpipe. "He's my _Other_, Axel. My Somebody. I can't just—I have to know."

What he doesn't say is that he's been wondering since birth what it was that made him special, and this is his chance to find it.

**things you can't 25 fix**

It's raining in Dark City, the night that Roxas leaves. It's always raining in Dark City, but it seems darker than usual, wetter. The city is bright with neon, but Roxas doesn't see any of it as he walks down the empty streets, trying to convince himself that the twinge in his stomach isn't regret.

Axel's waiting for him, halfway down the block. Roxas sees—and tries to ignore him. _You idiot_, he thinks as he passes. _It was better before._

"Your mind's made up?" Axel asks, and Roxas can barely hear the underlying plea: _Please don't do this._

"Why did the Keyblades choose me?" It comes out more of an accusation than a question, which surprises Roxas. "I have to know."

This isn't strictly true, and Axel knows it. What Roxas has to know is—what is Sora like? Are they similar? Different? What makes Sora special, that he would be a Keyblade master so young? It isn't that he won't ever come back. He _wants_ to come back, but there are things he has to know, and things he has to learn independent of Axel and Demyx and the Organization as a whole—and those are the things for which he searches, now.

"You can't turn against the Organization," Axel says, and he's desperate now, Roxas can hear it in his voice. "They'll destroy you!"

The thing is, if Axel owned his desires, Roxas would bend to them. If Axel told him that he didn't want Roxas to leave—if Axel owned that want, if Axel told him that he wanted him to say _for him_, not for the good of the Organization, Roxas would stay. But Axel can't do that. Axel is proud, too proud to admit need.

And Roxas resents that.

"No one would miss me," he bites out, bitterness making his words sharp. He opens a portal and steps into it, and it's on the last gust of air from Dark City that he hears Axel's words:

"That's not true! I would .. "

**your 28 heart**

As it turns out, Roxas never does go back.

**midday 09**

A dark shadow obscures the sun, and Roxas shades his eyes with one hand, looking up in the general direction of a red-haired giant towering over him. "You're in my sun," he says, not unkindly, just an observation.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." The stranger moves to the side, and Roxas catches a glimpse of green eyes under that almost-offensive mass of spiky hair. "I'm new around here. What's there to do in this place?"

"New to Twilight Town?" Roxas pauses. People don't come to Twilight Town—it's just not a tourist location, not really. For all its pretty beaches and perpetual semi-sunset, it's too out of the way to be properly kitschy, and everyone is a little too odd to make for good company. "Ride the train to the beach, maybe. Visit the Seven Wonders."

"Seven Wonders, huh," the stranger says, but it's obvious his thoughts are in another place. Roxas shrugs and stands up, brushes dust off of his pants, and offers a halfhearted wave in this newcomer's direction.

"Good luck figuring that out," he says, and begins to walk away.

"Wait!"

Roxas half-turns at the call, which sounds almost desperate. "Yeah?"

Their eyes meet. There is a long, melancholy silence, so thick that Roxas can almost taste it on his tongue. "Nothing," the stranger finally says, breaking the gaze. "You just reminded me of someone I used to know."


End file.
